


The Drawings

by crowe (thordasgay)



Series: Stupid, Gay French Boys Hopelessly in Love [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, hehe hoohoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:03:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thordasgay/pseuds/crowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based off of http://orestesfasting.tumblr.com/post/52986264681/someone-please-write-about-enjolras-and-grantaire</p>
<p>thank u good night</p>
<p>blog: enjorlas.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drawings

**Author's Note:**

> ***ENJOLRAS IS SPELLED WEIRD WHEN LITTLE GRANTAIRE IS TALKING BECAUSE THAT IS HOW HE IS PRONOUNCING IT***

Preschool AU thiNGY

Art time was never Enjolras’ favourite activity. It was too messy and there wasn’t enough order. He would rather read those books on giving a mouse food or finding monsters, but the teacher wouldn’t allow it.

However, Enjolras did enjoy one thing about it and that was Grantaire. Grantaire painted flowers as tall as houses and drew flying horses soaring next to rocketships. His mind was not limited to what was expected and Enjolras appreciated that.

One day, while Enjolras was attempting to admire Grantaire’s art from afar, it was shoved in his face, a sloppy “Grantaire” scribbled in the corner.

“For you.” A small, confident voice commanded. Enjolras looked at it, shocked. He had never seen anything more magnificent. A crayon sun behind a stick figure Enjolras could only assume was him. Enjolras took it and ran to the bookshelf and stared at it. He didn’t need anyone else bothering this masterpiece. It was drawn for him and only him.

“Enjolras,” the sickly sweet voice of the teacher crooned. “Why did you take Grantaire’s art?” He looked up at the tall lady.

“He gave it to me. It is mine.” He grimaced and turned away. The teacher touched his shoulder and chuckled.

“He has to turn it in, Enjolras, so he can get his gold star for the day.” Enjolras sighed. He didn’t want any shortcomings for Grantaire and reluctantly handed it over.

“No!” Grantaire shouted from behind the shelf. “That is Enjoras’s! Not yours!” Grantaire snatched it from the teacher.

“Grantaire! What did we say about snatching? Are we going to need another time out?”

“Not yours! Enjoras’s!” He held it close to his chest, then handed it back. The teacher picked her battles wisely and sighed.

“Grantaire, if you don’t turn it in, you won't get a gold star.”

“I no not care. It is not yours, mean lady.” The teacher stared at Enjolras and Enjolras stared back. She tried to take the art back but Grantaire shrieked. She tried again and he shrieked even louder. Finally, she walked away, creating a habit that would ruin Grantaire’s gold star record for the rest of the year.

~*~*~

Enjolras stared at his notebook, reviewing his ideas for his next inevitable debate on the street with those bigoted protesters. He liked to be prepared. His favourite ones were circled and he made an effort to memorize each detail perfectly. The library was his favourite place to “prepare for battle” as Combeferre called it. The deafening silence comforted him and provided no distractions, leaving him to his thoughts and his thoughts alone. Occasionally, some rude person would interrupt his tranquility and he would glare at them until they realised that talking on the phone in a library is not a good idea.  
6 pages in and someone appeared at his table.

“If you squint any harder, your eyes will pop,” A gruff voice laughed. Enjolras prepared his threatening stare and saw a man definitely not what one would expect. He was not very appealing to the untrained eye, but yet had a charm to him. His face was pudgey and his ears peaked out from underneath his brown curls and winter hat. His shirt said “secret sloth” and his pants made his legs look non existent.

Enjolras had no time for him, but yet he was intrigued. It was different to see someone who didn’t dress... normally.

“As much as I would love to chat...”

“Grantaire,” The man held out his hand. Enjolras mustered up a smile and shook it begrudgingly.

“Grantaire. I have to get back to my... notes.” Done. If he didn’t get the message, Enjolras didn’t know what would. He didn’t get the message.

“What are these notes about?” Grantaire sat down at the sat across from Enjolras and slung a bag on the back of his chair. Enjolras internally sighed.

“Equality, for lack of a better term.”

Grantaire harshly laughed. “A stand-up comedian, I see. Or a sit-down.”

“I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“Equality is the world’s greatest myth.” Enjolras was trying to figure out this man who faintly smelled of cigarettes and cheap wine. No one had ever blatantly challenged Enjolras outright.

“Absolutely not. Equality maybe something we dream of, but dreams can be achieved.”

“With a little hard work and sweat, right?”

“Exactly,” Grantaire leaned back and smiled at the ceiling.

“I admire your dedication, Enjolras.”

“I never told you my name.”

“You’re mum stitched it on your backpack.”

~*~*~*~ 

When he got home from the library, his suitcase was waiting where he left. Still steaming from his encounter with the strange Grantaire, Enjolras brushed the dust off of his suitcase and opened it. College, his big escape. Where he can say what he wants, whenever he wants, and not be afraid of scrutiny and mockery, not that he ever was. He decided he was only going to need one suitcase for college, only taking the utmost important items. However, the suitcase was fairly large.

He swung open the doors to his closet and started taking down clothes. After he took down his last shirt, some papers fluttered out from on top of a storage box at the top of his closet. He picked them up, having no memory of them ever being there. There were more than 50 of them, a quarter of them drawings including him, others were dragons, turtles, and trees that challenged the Empire State building.

These were obviously not his, his mother always told him he hated art class. So why did he have these? When he went through them a second time, he noticed a name at the bottom at one of them. This was one of him standing in front of a crayola sun. When he deciphered the name, there were no words to describe the amazement he felt.

The name was Grantaire.


End file.
